


Wait For Me

by makesometime



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Afterlife, Cemetery, Character Death, Death from Old Age, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Old Age, Reunions, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: Zolf visits a cemetery, many,manyyears later.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 22
Kudos: 56





	Wait For Me

**Author's Note:**

> Me, yesterday: I'm going to take a few days off writing, let all of the emotions settle.  
> Me, today: Ha, loser.
> 
> There are no spoilers for 174 in this fic, though this is, in essence, a fix-it fic. You could consider it, save for a few lines, canon-compliant with the episode, though it is set many many years in the future.
> 
> I think it's also quite sad, because I had to pause at one point to avoid having a little cry. But there's hope, too. Because it's Zolf.
> 
> (Title from Hadestown)

The cemetery is quiet, save for the wind through the trees and the skitter of leaves on the pathways. He walks the familiar path with sluggish steps, his body no longer quite so suited for the cold snap that this October has brought.

In his hand is a bunch of wildflowers that he picked this morning in the meadow at the bottom of ~~their~~ his garden. They're a little worse for wear from the short Channel crossing but that’s not really the point of all this. It’s a part of their life that he brings here year after year. It’s a part that'll carry on long after they’re both gone.

He left the notes this morning. One for each of Hamid’s children, one for Cel’s family and one to go back to Azu’s village. He warned Amelia, a month ago, that she might need to step in as one last favour if the news starts to spread.

He wonders if he should feel heavier, having faced this possibility and lived with it for thirty long, quiet days.

If anything, it makes him feel… _hopeful_.

Oscar’s tomb is larger than life, much like the man he loved. In the middle of rows and rows of tombs within this overflowing sprawling monument to death, it sits like a beacon. He can’t believe it’s been a year since he was last here. The things he’s done. The things he could continue to do…

He coughs, and it makes something spin angrily in his head. He picks up the pace towards the bench opposite where Oscar lays at rest, wiping at his eyes and mouth as he settles his weight down.

“Hey.” He speaks quietly, trying to keep the anticipation out of his voice. “Another year.”

It’s a worry, at first, that the wind has stolen his words, but then he feels it. The indescribable warmth. The sense of being whole again.

Home.

Love.

“Can you believe?”

He turns his head, smiling at the man settled beside him. “All too well.”

Oscar is beautiful. So beautiful that it takes his breath, breath that he can’t really afford to lose anymore. There’s a tension in a band across his chest that he winces at, sees the answering look of concern on the man’s face and instinctively wants to urge away with a swipe of his hand.

“How have things been?”

Zolf smiles. “You telling me you’ve not been watching?”

“I do, sometimes.” Oscar admits with an incline of his head. “But things just keep getting busier here by the day. And it makes me _sad_ Zolf. To see you. To not be there.”

He nods. He wants to reach out, but he knows it’s an exercise in futility. He’s tried many times before and it’s always ended in frustration.

“I did some good work this summer.” He says. “Back home. Set up a more effective union at the mines. Even if it’s all mechanised nowadays, the people there deserve respect.”

Oscar’s smile is almost blinding, easy without the scar and almost a little wrong, given how long and how well he wore the mark. “I’m so proud of you.”

“ _Stop_.” Zolf says through a smile, eyes feeling full again. “You’ll make me cry.”

“Can’t have that.” Oscar chuckles. “Would hate to damage your reputation.”

“The roof needed fixing in the spring.” He says, for want of anything more interesting to talk about. “Had to put a few buckets in your office before I could set about getting up there. Knew you’d hate the thought of anything getting damaged.”

“I happened to check in when you were up that godsdamn ladder.” Oscar closes his eyes and shakes his head, looking as unabashedly fond as he always used to. “Thought I’d be seeing you far sooner than I expected.”

“No faith in me.” Zolf grins, fighting down a shiver as the wind picks up once more. “That’s always been your problem.”

Oscar narrows his eyes, and Zolf isn’t sure if it’s entirely playful. “Zolf Smith. You can accuse me of being many things. But never that.”

 _Oh_ but he wants to touch him. 

Zolf sighs, looking down at the crumpled flowers in his hands. He’s been holding them too tight without realising.

“Larkspur.” Oscar murmurs. “I always loved these. I don’t remember there being any purple in the meadow.”

Zolf strokes a finger over the flowers. “They uh, they bloomed the year after you died.”

Oscar’s laugh is little more than a huffed exhale. “Fitting.”

The wind swirls around them again, picking up brown leaves and tugging at the flowers as his grip grows lax. When he looks back at Oscar, the man is as put together as ever, untouched by the world now. Handsome, healthy, _alive_ , as much as that’s a contradiction in terms.

Oscar smiles, and it’s a little sad, a little wistful.

Just like that, Zolf knows.

“Are you going to come with me this time, Zolf?” Oscar asks, holding out a hand.

He thought that he might hesitate, when it came to it. That it might not seem like the right thing to do. The right time.

He was so very wrong.

Reaching out, Zolf slips his hand into Oscar’s and feels a jolt of sensation pass through him as the man’s fingers wrap around his. Together they stand, and as he starts to look back over his shoulder a sharp tug from Oscar makes him stop.

“Don’t.” Oscar says quietly. “You don’t need to see it. Someone will come along soon enough.”

Zolf smiles, looking instead at the tomb, so much larger than the man standing beside him. For the first time, he allows his gaze to settle beside it, at the lone empty space in the cemetery. All these years, he’s known. He wonders what will fill that space now, who will make that decision. He hopes it’s not as ostentatious as Oscar’s.

Just somewhere for people to come, as he has. Somewhere for people to remember.

Oscar hums, a happy little noise that draws his eyes back. “I’ve been waiting a hundred years for this.”

“It’s not been—.”

His automatic retort is cut off by Oscar’s lips on his, a kiss so tender and so long in coming that he startles, looping his arms around Oscar’s neck almost as an afterthought. He’s not sure how long they lose to it, to the heat and the love and the soft rumbling groans that he’s missed swallowing up.

A throat clears to the side of them and he breaks away to see…

“Alright Zolf.” Sasha smiles, looking so at peace that he wants to sob. “Once you’re done here, there’s a few people who need to say hello.”

He nods, shakily, clutching tighter at Oscar’s hand and looking back to see him _beaming_.

“Come on, love.” He says, starting to guide them towards the light. “There’s so much I want to show you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I sort of fudged a few age things here, but Amelia and Zolf truly would be the last ones standing if everyone passed due to old age. I don't think Zolf would make it to what Pathfinder terms 'Venerable' (250 years) but that's just me.
> 
> According to Google, Larkspur symbolises 'love, affection, and strong attachment' but also 'a desire to be humorous and for lightness', so you know.
> 
> I love you all <3


End file.
